


Love

by HeadFullOfAliens



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Being drunk as a poor excuse, Emotional Sex, Fluff, Hand Jobs, M/M, Pining Will, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Reaaaally poor excuse, Will thinks Hannibal is incapable of love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 05:24:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9975215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeadFullOfAliens/pseuds/HeadFullOfAliens
Summary: After the fall, Will is left wondering what his place in Hannibal's mind is. Is he simply a pig?Based off some comments made in RDC3.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I read [this](http://headfullofaliens.tumblr.com/post/157700110008/avegetariancannibal-damnslippyplanet) thread, and [this](http://heartbeated.tumblr.com/post/157724411851/im-so-ready-for-the-shitstorm-of-piningwill-fic) other one, and I just... Well. I had to write this.
> 
> This is just fluff lmao. I hope you enjoy it!

_“It’s beautiful.”_

His last words. Those could have had been his last words. And he would have been okay with it.

As far as the world was concerned, those _had_ been his last words. As far as the world was concerned, Will Graham had died admitting to what had always been his darkest secret. His darkest fear. 

Looking down at his hands, he realized he had no reason to keep on hiding. He had killed a man; _Hannibal and he_ had killed a man, together, their blood mixing, their breaths crashing against one another. 

Will had wanted so bad to lean in and kiss him, to finally admit to himself was he was, in all its awful glory. With so little energy, he could only rest his head on Hannibal’s shoulder, embracing him, nonverbally asking him to hold him tight. 

After debating with himself whether to kill him or not, after considering watching Dolarhyde kill him. After forcing himself not to die so Dolarhyde couldn’t kill him. God, how things had changed in mere seconds. However had he been able to maintain so many different trains of thought at the same time?

After it all, he had been willing to die with him. His arm had wrapped around Hannibal’s neck, pulling them both off the cliff, into the sea. Maybe he couldn’t save himself, but that was just fine. 

Except, he had been saved. A scar across his face, and many more under his clothes, he had lived to see the Sun rise another day. He had lived to see his wounds heal, to see his country being left behind, flying away, towards a new life.

Muttering his last words, the moment had felt so pure, so crude, so _honest._ He was about to die, in the arms of the one he could now admit to love. He could admit it, finally; he loved that man, he loved what they had done. He adored and admired the sheer beauty of their becoming. There was no consequence in admitting that; the end was just seconds away.

He could have kissed him. He could have told him he loved him. Instead, he said those words. Hannibal knew what it all meant, Will was sure.

What were the consequences, now? In a world where he kept on living, even after admitting to all of that. In a world where he was still the same, continuing to hide, afraid of whatever might happen were he to allow himself to just _be._

And were he to allow himself to just be… Would there be a point? He had, after all, fallen for a magnificent beast unable to love him back.

It certainly wasn’t the first sunset he lived through in that country. It wasn’t, either, the first time he simply sat on his bed, looking at his hands, the red dye that had once painted them unable to fade from his mind. He longed for it; ached for it. He clutched his hands, his knuckles becoming white, wondering if Hannibal would ever comment on it. 

_Speak of the Devil,_ Will wanted to say, as someone knocked at his door. 

“Come in,” he muttered, hoping it was loud enough for the man to hear. As the door opened, Will resolved not to allow himself anything. Whatever might happen, were he to do it, could be too much. Too irresponsible of him. 

“Good evening, Will,” as polite as ever, Hannibal greeted the younger man. Will regarded him with a vacant nod, refusing to fully acknowledge the man, looking intensely at his feet. “I though, perhaps, I could persuade you to have something for dinner tonight. You haven’t eaten all day.”

“I have,” Will shrugged, not adding anything else. 

“Even so, please allow me to try,” the bed shifted as Hannibal sat next to Will. He kept his distance, Will noticed, almost gladly. Something was extended to Will, so he was able to see it even as he tried to avoid doing so. _Beer._

Will snorted. “Do you think you can _persuade_ me to have dinner by getting me drunk?”

“I thought I had a better chance at doing so with beer, rather than with wine.”

“I prefer whiskey,” he took the six pack extended at him nevertheless, taking a can, and handing the beers back to Hannibal, all while pointedly avoiding the man’s gaze. “Wine was a better shot. I won’t refuse the offer, though, although your plan might not work.”

Will heard Hannibal smile. “It is a good enough excuse for a conversation, nevertheless.” 

Will opened the can, taking a sip. At least it was cold. “Wanna talk about the weather?”

Hannibal ignored the comment. He opened a can as well. Will wondered if Hannibal could bear the taste of it without cutting his tongue off and eating it. “We have been here for almost a month,” he began, “And we have never talked about what has happened. I believe it is time to do so.”

“We’re dead. Is there anything else to discuss?”

“We’re most certainly not,” Hannibal replied, his fingers tensing around the beer can enough so that Will could hear the soft, almost inaudible sound of aluminium crushing. “You threw us off a cliff, yet here we are.”

“Save yourself, kill them all,” he echoed.

“Except you didn’t kill me.”

“I tried to,” the rest of his beer was long gone before he even realized. He extended an arm to grab another can, turning towards Hannibal in the process. Quickly grabbing the can, he tried to conceal his facial expressions. Hannibal looked _sad,_ if the man could feel such a thing. Will reminded himself he used to think Hannibal incapable of love. Was he, still? “I tried to kill us both. But we survived.”

“You could have killed me before. You had plenty of chances to do so. You could have let the Dragon kill me. He would have thrown me off the cliff, before you.”

“And you could have killed me,” Will countered. “Yet you simply said your compassion toward me was inconvenient,” a small pause, as Will considered his words, Hannibal making no comment about it. “Is it, still?”

“One could argue there will always be inconvenience in compassion.”

“Even more so if you’re trying to stay at the top of the food chain,” he snorted.

“Not only that,” Hannibal replied. “Had I not felt such compassion, I would have saved myself the trouble of love.”

“Love?” Will almost choked on his beer, not out of surprise, but out of laughter. “Is it the sort of love Mason felt for his pigs? Feeding them, carefully breeding them, so they’d make him proud before he sent them to the slaughterhouse?”

Hannibal set down an empty can of beer, his tongue clicking softly. He grabbed another one. Will followed suit. “You have referred to yourself as a cow before,” he started, voice carefully curious. “Will you now refer to yourself as a pig?”

“Is that not what I am?” Will wondered, more to himself than to Hannibal.

“I have never seen you as any less of what you are,” Hannibal simply stated. “Your mind is like no other I have ever met, and you are certainly above those I might have considered pigs. I do not see you as a pig. I could never.”

Will cocked his eyebrows, trying to think of some snarly response; anything to get him out of the feeling of what he just had heard filled him with. “It would have been cannibalism, then, if you had eaten me.”

“We are certainly equals,” Hannibal nodded. “I would, however, have regretted it immediately. The weight of what I would have done would have certainly fallen over my shoulders too quickly.”

“You’d regret losing the first equal you had ever found.”

“I’d regret losing the one who I love.”

“Love.”

He downed the rest of his beer, harshly putting down the can over his nightstand. He turned to Hannibal, finally daring to look into the beast’s eyes.

_Love._

_Love,_ his mind repeated in a loop as he unconsciously leaned in, inevitably drawn to the utter admiration and adoration he saw in the maroon eyes, staring back at him. Or was he just too drunk?

“What kind of love?” he wondered, a hand raising to rest on Hannibal’s shoulder. “Do you understand what love is? Or do you just confuse it with attraction?”

He pulled Hannibal towards him, kissing him roughly, his movements violent as his hands desperately clutched to the man’s shoulders, mirroring the cliff night. Hannibal raised a hand, cupping his cheek like he always did, forcing Will to pull away.

“I certainly understand love,” he replied, “As much as any other person in love does. Do you?”

Before Will could reply, Hannibal leaned in, kissing him this time. It was softer, calmer, yet with a hint of despair hidden in it; Will vaguely wondered if Hannibal had missed human touch so much that he was willing to touch him like that. His thumb traced over Will’s scarred cheek, his other hand softly tracing up Will’s torso, until it reached the collar of his shirt. He broke the kiss only to remove it. Will helped him remove his own, entranced, dancing along the slow pace of Hannibal’s caresses. 

“I thought I did,” he whispered against Hannibal’s lips. “I thought I had loved before, but that feels weak now.”

“Why does it?”

He pushed Hannibal down to the bed instead of answering, crawling up to cover the man’s body with his own, his hands tracing Hannibal’s biceps, trying to learn by memory the shape of his whole body. He knew all of this would be gone soon. He knew, come morning and soberness, regret and shame would be the only thing left for him. If he was to commit this mistake, then he would certainly seize it.

Hannibal’s hands went up to hold his hips, fingers pressing lightly against his skin before going up and up, the touch so soft Will could barely feel it, yet felt too aware of it all, at the same time. He hid his face in Hannibal’s neck, kissing the skin there, his hands snaking under his arms and back to embrace him.

“Someone once told me you were capable of love,” he murmured, his kisses going up to Hannibal’s ear, biting his earlobe lightly. The small gasp that got him made him bite harder.

“I take it you didn’t believe them,” his hands went to Will’s pants, unzipping them quickly, his thumbs snaking under the soft fabric of Will’s boxers to rub gently at his hipbones. He kissed Will’s curls, “Did they have any reason to lie to you?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, moaning softly, his hips rocking against Hannibal’s. “Did she?” said way too quickly, as his breath hitched at the feeling of Hannibal’s hand against his hardness. He bit down Hannibal’s neck, his nails scratching his back as he rocked himself against his touch. “Hannibal…”

“Do you feel as though I’m lying, when I use the word _love_ in regard to you?” he turned his head, making Will face him. They rested their foreheads together. Will got his hand from under Hannibal, to trace his fingers over his side, until he reached his pants, caressing him over the fabric.

“I don’t know,” he confessed, breathing heavily against Hannibal’s mouth, his eyelids feeling heavy at how good it felt to be touched that way. He wondered whether he had ever felt that way before.

 _No,_ he realized. No one had ever touched him like this, with such… softness, such devotion. No one had ever taken their time exploring him like this, tracing every bit of his skin, caressing every exposed part. This felt like _love,_ he realized, as he leaned down to kiss Hannibal, to try and tell him all of what he was feeling, to let him know how good and perfect it all felt.

Hannibal’s motions quickened, and Will got his hand under Hannibal’s pants, chasing both their pleasure, panting against each other’s mouths, their eyes never quite leaving the other’s.

“Hannibal… I…” he didn’t know what he was saying. It all felt too good, so good; almost too much. His brain was shutting down; all he was able to say was Hannibal’s name, like a plea. All he was able to do was to touch him, and to hold onto him as though his life depended on it.

He felt as though he was at the edge of the cliff, again. Except, this time, he was only flying; not falling. This time, he realized, none of this would be lost to the sea. Hannibal _loved_ him. God, he loved _him._ Of course he loved him. How could Will have been so blind?

Sparks filled his vision, and drowning on that realization, he reached his climax, followed shortly after by Hannibal. 

Did he need to hear it? It all felt so good. He felt so _loved,_ with Hannibal’s arms around him, his face so close to his own he could feel his breathing against his cheek. So did he?

“I love you, Will.”

Of course he did.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [Tumblr!](http://headfullofaliens.tumblr.com/)


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